


Closer

by FrozenMemories



Series: Femslash February 2020 [16]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22883917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenMemories/pseuds/FrozenMemories
Summary: Sara and Finn are out dancingTumblr fic prompt
Relationships: Julie "Finn" Finlay/Sara Sidle
Series: Femslash February 2020 [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632643
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Closer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jencsi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jencsi/gifts).



You’re just this side of pleasantly buzzed; just enough to venture out onto the dance floor and mingle with the crowd.

Granted, Finn had to drag you there by the hand and flash her _petty please_ smile at you a couple of times before you’d given in. But now she’s swaying her hips to the music while you try to keep up. Every now and then her hands come up to guide your moves, gently on your arms, lightly against your back, playfully at your hips.

She doesn’t know how each single touch affects you. How every brush of her fingers sets your skin on fire, even through layers of clothes. How you’re transfixed by her easy motions, the natural confidence of her every step, the smooth waft of her hair.

She looks up at you from underneath her lashes, heavy-lidded, making your heart beat frantically and your stomach tighten with a dangerous longing.

You’ve never been a confident dancer but her smile lets you forget your insecurities. She pulls you closer, aligns your bodies as she sweeps you into her moves. It’s a little awkward, you don’t really settle into the rhythm like she does, but she strings you along with a tighter handle on your sides.

“Let go,” she tells you and throws her head back in delight, her laugh beautiful and catching. You can’t help it; you’ve always been thinking too much, your head has always been holding you back from what your body may have wanted.

You offer her an apologetic smile and shake your head.

“I’m not good at this,” you raise your voice over the music, leaning into her space.

And then her hands are on your neck, pulling you down just a little closer, so she can bring her mouth right next to your ear, “You’re doing pretty well by my book.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the slightly bend over position she put you in, but you rest your hands on her winding hips without thinking and let them linger there.

She doesn’t seem to mind, keeps her forearms resting atop your shoulders as you move together a little more in tune than before.

The song changes and it takes a while to get into the new beat but her arms remain loosely wrapped around your neck and she keeps smiling at you until you find your flow again.

There’s a glint in her eyes, whenever she catches yours, and there’s an intense look on her face whenever she closes them. It makes your breath hitch.

You should probably pull the breaks on whatever is happening here but you can’t tear your eyes away from her. She’s mouthing the words to the song you’re dancing to and you feel her apply gentle pressure against the back of your neck, forcing your head down while she tilts hers up. Through the fog of everything you wonder if you’re dreaming. This can’t be what it feels like, she can’t. You slow your motions as you feel the tip of her nose touch yours, tentatively, teasingly. You lick your lips and press them together, resisting the urge to do something you’re sure you’d come to regret in the sober light of morning.

She nudges your nose again, gentle bumps like those of a cat.

“You want this, don’t you?” You hear her voice carry across the music, just barely. And oh, how you want this. You’ve wanted it for so long you forgot when it started, or how. You want it so much that you almost don’t care if it’s just a spur of the moment thing for her. But you’ve seen her do this with a number of people and you can’t bear the thought of being one in a row of many. You need this to mean so much more than it ever will for her.

You shake your head, forehead brushing hers, your noses never breaking contact.

“I can’t,” you whisper, feeling the words on your tongue even though they never even reach your own ears. You can’t become one of her meaningless encounters, yet at the same time you cannot resist.

You let your nose graze hers once more and then her hand is in your hair, guiding you to bridge the distance and you lose yourself in the feel of her soft, warm lips.


End file.
